


The Assassin's Woman

by graveyardwitch



Category: American Assassin - Vince Flynn
Genre: Angst, F/M, Masturbation, Romance, Sex, Shower Sex, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 09:38:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9650000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/graveyardwitch/pseuds/graveyardwitch
Summary: A one-shot based in the song 'The Devil's Backbone' by The Civil Wars.  There is a woman in the Louisiana backwoods that Mitch Rapp goes to after every assignment....





	

**Author's Note:**

> This idea has been in my head since I started the book series and I decided to write it down-and by write it down I mean bang it out during a sleepless night with a broken wrist. There is sex in this. If you're under 18 then go away, this story is for the grown-ass women. Best read with a glass of Bourbon and The Civil Wars or Hozier on the headphones. Comments and kudos are always massively appreciated and feed my muse. Also, why the hell can't I get italics to work on this thing?! Sorry, but it's driving me insane!

The Assassin’s Woman

 

“Oh Lord, oh Lord, what do I do? I’ve fallen for someone who’s nothing like you. He’s raised on the edge of The Devil’s Backbone. Oh, I just want to take him home.”

 

It was past midnight when the crunch of gravel sounded on the narrow path that led up to the small backwoods cabin. She rose and went to screen door, watching as the battered black sedan slid to a stop beside the porch. No headlights. That was how she always knew it was him.

He got out and she stepped into the sultry Louisiana night to meet him, taking his big hand wordlessly in her small one and leading him inside. He followed her calmly enough but she was under no illusions as to his power, his danger…It still felt like having an Alaskan Timberwolf at the end of a leash. 

She locked and bolted the door after them before turning to find him standing still as a statue in the hallway, half in shadow, his dark ochre eyes watching her intently…Suspiciously. She sighed in frustration and met his stare, holding her arms out from her body, palms up in weary surrender.

“Go on then. Please yourself.” He began to pat her down, hands stroking down her arms, up her thighs. “But I’m not wired. You’d think you’d have learnt to trust me by now.”

By way of an answer he caught her by the shoulder and twisted her roughly around to face the door, taking hold of both her hands and placing them firmly on the wood. She bit her lip and waited as he finished searching her, straightened up…and stood for a few moments in complete silence. Slowly she became aware of the heat of his breath on the back of her neck, felt her skin prickle beneath his gaze. Her heart began to pound as he took a step forward to loom over her, his sternum against her back, the warmth of his body radiating through her thin T-shirt.

“Don’t move.” It was a deep, gravelly growl. Even here, in her home, he had to be the one in control. A hand snaked over her hip and down beneath the cotton of her underwear. She parted her thighs to let him in. There came another growl, just at her ear. “Good girl.” For a moment his hand was still, cupping that most private part of her, claiming it as his own. Then his fingers deftly parted her nether lips, seeking out that tiny nub of flesh that was already throbbing for him. When he found it she couldn’t help but let out a moan. “Shhh.” As the fingers of one hand toyed with her clit, the other slid up beneath her T-shirt to cup her left breast, taking the swollen nipple and rolling it between its fingers, tugging and pinching, the sensation just on the knife-edge between pleasure and pain. He nuzzled along her shoulder, her neck, like a wolf scenting its mate. She was soaking wet now, could smell her own arousal in the warm air. He increased his pace and she felt the heat rising, radiating through her body, felt her cheeks flush, her heart-rate quicken, felt that delicious ache start deep within her inner core. She was close, so close. She tilted her hips to meet his strokes, closed her eyes, braced her hands against the door…

And then he was gone. 

“Bastard.”

She turned, stumbling into the living room on shaky legs to watch as he searched every nook and cranny, every surface for any form of recording device. She knew better by now than to try to reassure him-He had to see it for himself. It went further than professionalism, further than paranoia; only she knew that it was genuine fear-but for him or for her, she wasn’t sure. 

Finally he straightened up, tossing a cushion aside and nodded. Only then did he let her kiss him, stooping to capture her mouth as she stood on tiptoe to meet his. He kissed her gently at first; then with more force, more hunger, arms sliding down to cradle her as he bruised her lips with his own, kissing her as if he wanted to consume her. She reached up to tangle her fingers in his over-long dark hair and pulled him closer, meeting his tongue with hers, his stubble sandpaper rough on her chin, his mouth tasting warm and Bourbon sweet. As she pulled away he caught her lower lip in a playful nip that sent shivers up her spine. She pressed her forehead to his, staring straight into this beautiful eyes; deep chocolate flecked with amber-Tiger’s eyes. 

“Shower?”

He nodded.

 

She led him to the bathroom, peeling his battered leather jacket from his shoulders. The gun holster strapped across his chest both fascinated and repulsed her in equal measure. She reached for the polymer grip of the Barretta, the main tool of his trade, only for him to grab her wrist hard enough to bruise.

“Don’t.”

He released her and she stepped back and watched as he unbuckled it and set it carefully aside but still within easy reach, along with another pistol from his waistband and the 6 inch blade strapped to his right calf. Once he’d finished he turned to her and she saw, for just a split second, something darken in his expression. Guilt? No. Concern? Perhaps. But it was unnecessary- she didn’t scare that easy. She knew what he was and didn’t care; she knew enough of the world to know that the only justice to be found is the justice we find for ourselves. She lifted her T-shirt up and over her head before sliding her panties down her thighs and stepping carefully out of them, motioning for him to do the same. 

She twisted the tap until the water steamed and led him beneath the spray. Crimson droplets spattered his cheek, the leftover from a spray so fine he probably hadn’t noticed it. At the sight of them her stomach lurched a little…then she dampened a wash-cloth and calmly wiped them away. She set about washing him clean, washing away the sweat, the desert sand, washing away his exhaustion. She swept the cloth across his broad shoulders, down his strong arms, over the defined muscles of his chest and his taut stomach. She crouched to rub down both long legs, massaging his calves, even wiping the dust from his feet like he were some Messiah instead of the Angel of Death. Then there was only one place left…

He was already semi-hard. She reached up into the wiry dark curls and took him in hand, once again marvelling at his length. She set to work stroking him expertly to hardness, caressing the shaft, flicking a thumb carefully over tip, watching as his eyelids began to droop, a red tongue darting out to lick his lips. She couldn’t help but be fascinated by how easily she could make him unravel; make this predator into a man again. She moved her mouth to his chest, planting butterfly kisses in a trail along his collarbone, across his throat and along his strong jawline to his lips. At first he moaned into her mouth, thrusting and bucking into her fist. Then he took her face in his hands and kissed her, twisting and slamming her against the cool tiles. His mouth moved to her neck as his hand slid its way down her stomach and between her legs, seeking that sweet spot once more. He rubbed mercilessly until she was slumped against him, begging into his shoulder.

“Please…Please…”

He lifted her as if she weighed nothing, hands beneath her curved cheeks, and she wrapped her legs around his waist, her arms sliding up beneath his as she clung to him. When he pushed inside her, his girth spreading her deliciously, she tilted her head back, keening up into the torrent of water. As his thrusts grew faster, deeper, she felt that heat spreading through her again, that intoxicating arousal, coursing like lava through her veins, building, building, until it was all she could do to hold back. She turned her head until her lips were at his ear, her nails digging into his skin, and murmured a desperate plea.

“Oh! Oh Christ! Please…Oh Jesus, can I...? I need to…I-I can’t…”

He turned to kiss her cheek. “Yes, Baby. Go on.”

And she slumped against him and let herself come completely undone.

 

Still inside her, he wrapped his arms around her and carried her into the bedroom, laying her on top of the bed with a surprising tenderness, almost reverence, before pulling away. She reached for him, only for him to catch her seeking hands and position them gently yet firmly above her head. He leant above her, lips caressing her temple, her cheeks. He nuzzled her, nose to nose, to make her laugh, and planted a soft kiss on her lips before moving on down, lips ghosting over her throat and down to her breasts. They settled there, mouthing at her nipples, the tip of a hot, wet tongue circling them until they stiffened, the wet flesh tingling in the cool air as he pulled away. For a moment he rested his head on her stomach and she reached down to run her fingers through his thick pelt of black hair. He leaned into her touch, she almost fancied she felt him purr into her belly…Then he was up again, crouching at the bottom of the bed and watching her hungrily with his wild dark eyes like a panther ready to pounce. She wanted to reach for him again, but knew better. Instead she lay still as he pulled her legs apart, spreading her thighs as wide as they would go and pinning them in place with his strong forearms until she was spread-eagled helplessly beneath him.

At the first touch of his tongue she shuddered, fighting to raise her hips to his mouth; yet he held her fast, lapping at her teasingly, bringing her tantalisingly close to the tipping point before pulling away and watching her wriggle and beg beneath him with the detached curiosity of a cat toying with a mouse. By the time his lips closed around that little bud and began to suck, she could feel herself turning to liquid. But she couldn’t let him keep the upper hand like this. She reached down, tugging at his hair until he raised his head to look at her.

“Fuck me. Now.”

Annoyance at her impudence flashed in his tiger eyes, but he rose and let her take hold of his wrist, guiding him until he was sitting on the bed. She straddled him, taking all of his length into her with one swift movement, savouring the feeling of being completely full. She took his cheeks in her hands, kissing him passionately before pulling away. Her eyes searched his face, as she reached down to take his hands in her own, twining her fingers with his against the quilt.

“What am I to you? Hmm? What am I to you?”

For a moment his lips curved in amusement; then he grew serious. “You’re my woman.”

And suddenly she felt like crying. But she had him. Right here, right now, she had him.

So instead she pulled his hands up to her breasts and kissed him again, before riding him hard, moving her hips in time with his thrusts as they tried, and tried, and tried to get enough of each other.

 

*******************************

 

‘You’re my woman.’

His words hung in the air above the bed, taunting her. If only they’d been true. But she knew there had been another, before her, and though that woman was a long time in the grave she still had his heart.

She raised herself up on one elbow to look at him. He lay still, the soft moonlight creeping through the window to caress his long languid limbs and handsome features. Sleep had soothed the worry from his face and he seemed so much younger, boyish, almost…innocent…

He didn’t look like a killer.

She knew why he came to this shack out in the woods. He came to feel after so long training himself to be the kind of numb required for vengeance, he came to feel loved, to feel human again…He came for unspoken forgiveness.

And she was happy to give that to him.

As she watched his lips curled slightly and his black eyelashes, the longest she’d ever seen on a man, fluttered at some dream. She bent to kiss his cheek and then whisper in his ear what she’d never dare say when he was awake.

“I love you.”

He didn’t stir.

She lay back down and curled herself against his back. Pushing aside his over-long hair, soft like an animals’, she pressed her face into the nape of his neck and inhaled gulps of his scent, warm and spicy like sandalwood.

 

*****************************************

 

The next morning she stirred and reached for him; only for her hands to clutch at nothing. The creak of the floorboards alerted her to his presence and she sat up just in time to see him finish buckling his gun holster across his body again. Suddenly it struck her- This time with him could be the last time. The thought was gut-wrenching. Seized with emotion, she kicked the tangled sheets away and ran to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and clinging to him, pressing her face into his shoulder and inhaling great gulps of his scent as if in an effort to preserve the memory of him.

‘Don’t you get yourself killed! Don’t you dare!’ The words screamed inside her…But she knew it would do no good to say them out loud. So instead when he turned to face her she pulled him wordlessly into a final kiss, savouring the taste of him. He took her face in his hands and kissed her forehead tenderly before pulling away and reaching for his jacket. 

 

She hastily wrapped herself in her robe and followed him outside, standing on the porch and watching as he made his way towards his car, seeming to wade through the early morning mist.

“Mitch?” He stopped in the act of opening the car door and turned back to look at her. She tried to affect an air of nonchalance. “You be careful, y’hear?”

For a moment he looked touched. Then his lips curled into that mischievous smirk that had first drawn her in like a magnet, and he shook his head slowly.

She sank onto the step, hugging her knees to her chest, and watched the car disappear down the narrow track. She’d never been much of believer and he sure as hell was no saint, but she still offered up a prayer for him.

 

‘Don’t care if he’s guilty; don’t care if he’s not. He’s good, and he’s bad, and he’s all that I got. Oh Lord, oh Lord, I’m begging you please…Don’t take this sinner from me.’


End file.
